Page 49 of Win Me, My Lord (All’s Fair in Love and Racing #5)

This wasn’t a feeling brought on by Sir Abstrupus’s vision of his future, but rather a reinforcement of a specific readiness.

He was ready …

To fight …

For Artemis.

As if Providence had a hand in the proceedings—and perhaps a sense of humor—a thinning of the crowd occurred, and there appeared Artemis as if out of a dream.

Bran’s lungs had trouble drawing breath as he beheld her.

She’d come adorned for a fancy-dress ball, from her white, one-shouldered, Grecian-style gown to the gold bangles wrapped around her upper arms and delicate moon pendant hanging between her deep décolletage.

A bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder, she was a glory.

Faithful Bathsheba at her feet seemed to know it, too.

Artemis had come as … Artemis .

As the goddess she was.

All he could do was stand in worship to her.

“Is that woman your destiny?” came a voice at his side. He’d forgotten Sir Abstrupus.

“Aye.”

“Then by God,” he said, “don’t let anything stand in your way. Go forth and win her.”

Destiny.

It held the ring of truth.

He and Artemis were, indeed, each other’s destiny. And he hoped tonight signified a special turn in that shared destiny.

Tonight could be the start of their forever.

Up until the very last minute, Artemis had wavered in her intention to attend Sir Abstrupus’s fancy-dress ball.

But three factors had eventually tipped her in favor.

One, as frivolous as it was, she loved a fancy-dress ball. In fact, it was the utter frivolity that made it so fun.

Which led her to the second factor: It was Sir Abstrupus who was throwing this fancy-dress ball, and plainly, she was curious.

He hadn’t disappointed.

All the neighboring estate owners within a fifty-mile radius would be talking about this ball for years to come. Eventually, it would become legend. Simply, it was that extravagant and that unusual and so very Sir Abstrupus.

Along with his collection of exotic blooming plants and flowers, Sir Abstrupus had had four towering potted palms brought in from the orangery and placed around the ballroom.

Usually, at a ball, a string quartet provided the music for dancing, but tonight’s waltzing was to the musical strains of … pipe organ ?

The Roost had a pipe organ?

So, it was fair to say her curiosity was appeased on the matter of what sort of fancy-dress ball Sir Abstrupus would host—an eccentric one.

But it was the third factor that had her heart thundering in her chest and the blood effervescing in her veins.

Bran might be in attendance.

It had been weeks since they’d seen each other.

Since that final night at Somerton.

Within an hour of his departure and her confrontation with Mother, Artemis, too, had left and returned to the Grange, where she’d hoped to sink into its daily routine.

But it was without joy or a true sense of purpose that she went through the rounds of her usual tasks, walking through her days with a sort of numbness—which was preferable to the tears brought on by night.

The world was different now, and it was taking some time to settle into her bones.

There was the obvious fact that her relationship with Mother was irrevocably altered.

Good. The complex mix of sadness and relief had taken her by surprise.

Still, she had Bran to thank for it. If he hadn’t pushed her to see all the harm Mother had done, and for the reasons she’d done it, Artemis never would have.

But it wasn’t all good, was it? Had she lost Bran?

No.

She hadn’t.

She wouldn’t.

And that was the true why of her presence here.

She’d had enough time—and so had he. What healing they needed would be done together. She was determined. They’d had enough loss for two lifetimes.

No more.

They wouldn’t lose each other.

Though they’d untethered their boats for these long few weeks, she still held onto the sight of him on the horizon. It was time they rowed back toward one another.

So, she’d donned her Artemis costume and come to the ball.

And now, on the opposite side of the dancing floor, there he was, the elegant simplicity of his evening blacks in stark contrast to the outrageous resplendence of Sir Abstrupus’s costume. The old schemer was gilded nearly to his eyeballs.

Across the expanse of gleaming mahogany, Bran’s gaze shifted and their eyes locked.

No one else mattered—or even existed.

Sir Abstrupus said something that Bran acknowledged with a distracted nod, before he melted into the crowd as much as a Sun King could.

It was only her and Bran now.

As if following a dance of their own choreography, they each took a step forward. Then another and another, only stopping once they’d come within reaching distance. The discipline it took to stop there … Had they ever?

She searched his golden eyes for a sign—a clue how the conversation would proceed. Determination shone out at her. Uncertainty, too. And something else … something she wasn’t brave enough to hope for—not yet.

“You came,” she said.

“I wouldn’t have missed it.”

A trembly smile pulled at her mouth. “I didn’t take you for one who would enjoy the frivolity of a fancy-dress ball.”

It was a leading statement, even a slightly manipulative one, but necessary. She needed to know if deeper motives were at play on his part—or if she was the only one. The couples waltzing around the ballroom weren’t the only ones engaged in a dance.

“It wasn’t the ball I didn’t want to miss,” he said, his voice deep, crushed velvet. “Or the pleasure of Sir Abstrupus’s company.”

A too-attractive smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

Heat flared through her to the tips of her ears. Oh. A couple on the dancing floor caught the edge of her eye. If she wasn’t misremembering her historical characters, they were dressed as Antony and Cleopatra. Her brow wrinkled. “Is that Lady Gwyneth?”

“Aye.”

“With her young baron?” At least, Artemis hoped so. One couldn’t mistake the besotted expression on Lady Gwyneth’s face as she gazed up at her beloved.

Bran nodded. “They are betrothed.”

“Good.” A thought came to her. “Do you suppose he was the first man she ever danced with?”

She felt the heat of Bran’s gaze on the side of her face. “I suppose.”

Though his words weren’t phrased as a question, a question hung within.

“Perhaps …” Artemis wasn’t best pleased where her thought was leading this conversation. “Perhaps it isn’t a good idea for a young lady to fall in love with the first man she ever dances with.”

The air between them went still and tense with the words she’d left unspoken.

Bran was the first man she’d ever danced with—and she’d fallen in love with him.

And perhaps that hadn’t been a good idea.

Still, she felt the burn of his gaze on the side of her face. “Do you believe that?” he asked— demanded .

She angled her head so she could meet his eye.

She realized she had something to say. “Fast, impetuous love barely has time to delve beneath the surface of a person. It’s attraction based on perception—the flash of a wicked smile …

the strong line of a jaw … a scent one finds beguiling …

a quick wit … Fast, impetuous love is infatuation. ” She hesitated. “It’s lust.”

He’d moved closer as she’d given her little speech, so she now caught his beguiling scent of sandalwood and Bran, and a glint in his eye—one that strummed a resonant chord through her. And the subtle smile that curved his mouth …

It was wicked.

And it delved deep below her surface.

“You know this from experience?” he asked, his voice that captivating crushed-velvet rumble.

Familiar places inside her awakened, and she went breathless with sudden, blinding desire. “I do.”

He reached out, and strong, masculine fingers threaded through hers.

Without another word, his hand firm around hers—his touch sending tiny flashes of lightning through her veins—they edged around the periphery of the crowd until they were stepping through the double doors open to cooling air.

Having caught a scent that demanded exploring, Bathsheba nosed around them and raced into the night.

Other couples meandered about the terrace, enjoying a respite from the crowded humidity of the ballroom.

The urgent need to be alone kept them moving, for the madness they inspired in one another chased them and demanded its due.

Down a short set of stairs and around one corner and then another—their hands tightly clutched—they found it—a place where the music was muted and it was only them … and their madness for one another.

He backed her against the stone wall and gently took her face in his large hand, his golden eyes so intense upon hers.

Then he kissed her, and all the pent-up emotion of the last few weeks released between them as their bodies stretched along the length of each other …

his hard, hers yielding … her fingers twined through the hair that curled at the nape of his neck …

his other hand upon the indent of her waist, holding firm.

It was release, but relief, too.

And right .

Them, together, it was right.

And yet …

Her mouth tore away from his. She angled her head back and met questioning golden eyes. “But Bran?” she whispered.

“What is it?”

“The first love that burns fierce and hot.”

“Yes?”

“Can it sustain over time? Can it last?” Oh, how she didn’t want to ask this last question … “Would ours have lasted?”

The instant the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back.

But they needed to be asked.

Of each other.

Of themselves.

“Our love was instantaneous and impetuous,” he said, at last. “And even though we thought we knew each other fully, we couldn’t possibly have.

We were only at the beginning of our lives.

We didn’t know who we would become. Perhaps if we had married, that love would have not only cooled, but entirely died, and there we would have been resenting each other for the rest of our lives. ”

Artemis shook her head, adamant. “You cannot truly believe that.”

“Actually,” he said, and the breath caught in her throat. “I don’t. But …”

She could breathe again, except … “ But? ”

“But now,” he continued, “after we’ve experienced life and loss, we’ve met again

and—” He searched her eyes. “And we’ve fallen in love as the people we are today. We know now what we couldn’t have known then.”

“What is that?”

“Our love transcends time, Artemis. It was always meant to be. Our love is destiny.”

For so long, they’d denied the certainty of their love—of their destiny.

No longer.

“Do you remember your promise to me?” she asked.

“Which one?”

“That you will give me anything I want.” Her eyes pooled with a sudden flood of tears, a hitch in her throat when she continued, “All I have to do is speak my want.”

He swiped a fallen tear with his thumb. “What is it you want, Artemis?”

“ You , Bran,” she whispered. “All I want is you.”

He angled forward and pressed his mouth to hers in a light kiss. “I am yours, Artemis.” He kissed her again. “And you are mine.” Another kiss—this one a little longer … a little hotter. “And we are each other’s.”

“Forever, Bran.” She felt suddenly serious. “We shall never be parted again.”

“I love you, Artemis,” he said, as serious.

When his mouth took hers this time, the kiss was slow and imbued with all the promises they’d made each other long ago—and with the most important one of all now …

The promise of forever .